


Dream Inside The Static

by LWTIS



Category: South Park
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Body Horror, Established Relationship, Horror, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, probably best not read right before bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 15:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWTIS/pseuds/LWTIS
Summary: After six months amongst the stars in humanity's leading space station, it's easy to feel a little off-balance - especially with your boyfriend still back on Earth. Amongst scout missions to alien-infested territories and all the concerns that come with discovery, Kenny and Kyle try to make the best of things.(If only the station would stop falling apart everywhere Kenny looked. And if only the maintenance staff would listen to his complaints about the constant flickering lights.)





	Dream Inside The Static

“Heads up, Kenny - they’re heading your way!”

With a grin, he taps a finger against his helmet. “Roger that. Give me a challenge, boys! The last few were too easy.”

All he gets is a snort in response. Seconds later, the flare of an explosion cuts through the darkness, ground shaking with the impact. Kenny takes that as a cue to drop his sniper rifle, reaching for the pistol on his belt. He has just enough time to switch his playlist before a familiar screech announces the arrival of the aliens. Jaunty piano keys start pounding against his ears as three dozen teeth are bared in his direction, slimy black appendages hurling the alien right into Kenny’s firing range.  
(The handbook never specifically stated you weren’t allowed to rewire your helmet to blast Dolly Parton during a mission.)  
His channel crackles over the heavenly croon of the goddess with a warning just as the blonde reaches to reload his weapon, suit sticky with drying blood. He barely manages to duck to the side before clawed hands slam against the side of his head, sending him flying into the nearest wall.  
The taste of blood is sharp against his tongue as he rolls onto his knees, the shields of his suit flickering from the impact. Ignoring the searing pain in his cheek, Kenny stills himself - waiting until the monster is looming over him to pull the trigger.

By the time he manages to push the carcass off him, his teammates have caught up. Craig watches his struggle from a distance, no doubt hiding a smirk under the thick plexiglass of his helmet. Next to him, Scott is already calling for evac, waving an arm in the air as the familiar form of their shuttle dips over the horizon.   
Stan glances over his shoulder when Kenny ducks into the cockpit, whistle low.

“Nice face wound.” he comments, shaking his head. “Maybe now they’ll serve you a beer in the cafeteria without asking for ID.”

Despite his tone, he’s already tugging his seat compartment open, tossing a medi-gel capsule in Kenny’s direction. Laughing, the blonde steps close enough to curl an uninjured arm around his friend’s neck.

“Let's hurry it up, Stanley. I've got a hot date waiting back on the station.”

\---

“You look terrible.”

Kenny pouts at the screen, running a hand through his hair in a dejected manner. “And I skipped out on dessert just so I could do my hair all nice for you, babe.”

“That's not what I meant!” his boyfriend snaps, voice crackling ever so slightly with the underlying static. “I thought you were only going for a routine scout mission! Why do you look like you had your face split open?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” the blonde says. He just about resists the urge to poke at the bandage covering most of his left cheek.  

“Well, I should hope so.” Kyle snorts, resting his chin on top of his hands. “I’m not working my ass off to help the biggest research expedition of the century so it can get my boyfriend hurt.”

Kenny feels himself preen, cheek protesting at his widening smirk. “I love it when you get all bossy and possessive.”  

He gets a legendary Broflovski eye roll in response, Kyle’s mouth still curved in an unhappy line. “What was Leslie doing, letting you guys venture out into such dangerous territory?”

“You know, Leslie might be the crowning achievement of the AI department, but she isn’t here to solve every single problem that might potentially arise, ever.”

“Funny. That’s exactly how the investors pitched her, back in the day.” the redhead snorts. “We should tell the marketing team to change their tagline.” With sagging shoulders, he reluctantly drops the topic in favour of filling Kenny in about his latest fundraiser event.

“Instead of proper food, they just had these _pretentious_ nutritional pellets that looked like rabbit droppings. And they had the balls to call it _trendy!”_ Green eyes flash with righteous indignation as Kyle huffs at the memory. “And I _couldn’t say shit about it all evening!_ I just had to nod and smile and keep gushing compliments about their _amazing contribution and support towards the advancement of humanity_ all the way until it was time for my presentation. I wanted to drown myself in the fountain.”

“I bet you looked real good doing it though.” Kenny says, tone wistful. “Did you wear _that_ suit?”

Even through the grainy feed, the blonde catches the twitch of his boyfriend’s lip. “The one that reduces you to a drooling mess? I did.”

Kenny’s whine is both loud and theatrical. “Why didn’t I get any pictures? If I’m not there to witness it in person, I’m contractually obligated to get pictures.”

“Oh, is that so?” comes Kyle’s drawn-out reply, smug and sly. “Aren’t you lucky that I already hunted down every site that published candid shots from the evening, then?”

The easy response catches in Kenny’s throat, suddenly constricted by a rush of emotions. Affection, jealousy, near-painful longing - they burn white-hot against his tongue, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Slowly, he raises a hand, pressing his fingers against the cool surface of the screen. When he finds his voice, it’s a soft, near-inaudible thing.

“The luckiest.”

It doesn’t take long for Kyle’s fingers to slip underneath his own, the tips of his nails a cluster of fuzzy pixels. If Kenny concentrates hard enough, he can pretend to feel the warmth of the other's skin against his own.

“We should get one of those long-distance couple devices.” he murmurs after a long pause. His throat feels raw. “The ones where the counterpart light up when you touch them.”

Predictably, Kyle’s tenderness melts into a frown.

“Those things are an overpriced, scientifically debunked hoax.” he scowls. His expression is one of disgruntled disgust and Kenny loves him so, _so much_ . “Even if they _did_ work, there’s _zero_ chance of it working between the space station and another planet. In best case scenario, it would be an extremely expensive placebo mat.”

Kenny hums. His thumb brushes over the image of Kyle's own. “It’s be nice placebo though.”

There's a breathless laugh in response. The line twists his words a decibel lower, as if intent on emphasising the distance between the two of them.

“Yeah. Yeah, it would be.”

\---

His communicator chirps with a reminder the next morning, just as he leaves his room.  
_Reminder: Check email drafts. PRIORITY._  
By the time he wipes the sleep clean from his eyes and steps into the elevator, a screen requesting a password greets him. He allows muscle memory to take over, mind already on breakfast. A sharp sound alerts him to an indignant notification.  
_Incorrect Password._  
Huh. Odd.

“Morning!”

Bebe's cheerful voice prompts him to glance up. Shuffling to make space for her, he hurriedly dismisses the entire reminder. “Morning, beautiful!

“I wish I could say the same.” she replies without batting an eyelid, reaching over to grip his chin with her left hand. “What have you done to your lovely face?”

“I got ambushed and slammed into the wall.” Kenny says, words a little muffled. “You know how shit the padding in these helmets are - your head doesn’t crack open, but you come out looking like you lost a bar fight.”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that the first round of schematics have been approved!” She finally releases him, presenting a datapad with as much fanfare as a simple flick of the wrist can offer. “I’m on my way to get the resources signed off, and then we can get straight onto production. You should have new suits ready for testing by the end of the week.”  

Cyan eyes widen as he scrolls through the document, excitement mounting with each design. “Bebe, this is amazing! Whose work is this?”

Manicured nails smack against his arm playfully as she rolls her eyes. “You're hilarious, Kenny.”

“Oh, I'm aware.” he grins, pausing to enlarge the technical drawing of the upgraded helmet. “But seriously, whose proposal is this? I’d like to give them a kiss.”

He doesn’t expect Bebe’s expression to twist into a frown. “Seriously? Still fishing for compliments?”

“Huh?”

“...It's yours.”

-

“Did you know that apparently, I submitted a proposal to redesign our gear?”

Stan’s fork hovers above his plate, expression torn between disbelief and amusement. “...yeah. Have you already forgotten it? I told you it wasn’t a good idea to stay up for almost 50 hours in order to get it done, dude.”

Kenny stares at him, dropping his gaze to the table in bewilderment. He tries to think back - but his brain, struggling on three hours of sleep and five coffee capsules, vehemently protests at his efforts.

“...I need to sleep more.” he announces, words muffled as he drags a hand across his face.

“Realisation of the century.” his friend quips kindly. Underneath the table, the toes of his boots nudge against Kenny’s shins. “I’m going to message Kyle to stop keeping you up all night after missions.”

“ _Why_ would you  _betray_ me like that, Stanley?! _I thought we were friends_.”

Stan giggles, not unlike some 90’s anime villain. The blonde leans closer, about to milk his hypothetical suffering for all its worth - when the bright halogen lights above him suddenly flicker. The abrupt contrast makes him wince in pain, hand pressing over his eyes to soothe the sting.  

“ _Damn._ You know, for such a state of the art space station, it sure reminds me a lot of middle school.” Kenny scoffs. With a practised move, he swipes Stan’s chocolate bar off his tray, ignoring his protests. “Flickering lights, highly questionable food. It better not fall apart with us still in it.”

His friend glances up at the lights, expression twisting into a frown. His lips part before he abandons his train of thought with a shrug.

“Speaking of - you would not believe what Butters found in his ‘stew’ yesterday - “

\---

He grits his teeth with effort as he slides his hands further, pawing around blindly for the adventurous stylus that decided to roll under his bed. Unexpectedly, his fingers brush against crumpled paper. Intrigued, he grabs on and pulls it free.  
The handwriting twists across the page in messy familiarity, forming a message Kenny definitely doesn’t remember writing.

_Don’t trust the robot._

\---

Days fly by in a haze of assignments and paperwork. The lights in the cafeteria remain stubbornly broken, despite his multiple requests to maintenance.  
His communicator continues to hide his email drafts from him, despite only having used one single password across all his devices his entire adult life - much to Kyle’s chagrin. At night, he curls himself around his pillow, the ache from the absence of another body bone-deep and inescapable.

“You need to hurry your genius brain up and invent teleportation already.” he tells Kyle the next morning. His tone is serious to match his serious and completely reasonable request. Despite his palpable concern, the redhead indulges him.

“Sure thing. Which method would you prefer? The one where I destroy myself down to my base atoms and have a machine reconstruct me at my destination - or the one where I somehow manage to open a wormhole?”

“Whichever tickles your fancy, babe.”

“I'd probably prefer the wormhole.” Kyle muses. He spins his stylus between his fingers thoughtfully. “If you’re broken down that far, is it really you that gets assembled on the other end?"

\---

“I hate capture missions.” Craig grumbles, giving the chains another tug. As if hearing his words, the containment unit behind them rattles ominously. Even the thick metallic walls cannot contain its alien prisoner's furious screeches.  

“At least the baits worked perfectly!” Scott says cheerfully. His teammate only grimaces.   

“I just hate getting up close to them.” he mutters, sending the caged specimen another glare. “Of all things, why do they have to look like rotting, creepy old women?”

Kenny’s thumb pauses over his screen, tilting his head to look Craig’s way.  “...what, with the three dozen teeth and six eyes?”

Slowly, his teammate turns to look at him, his expression as flat as his tone. “...I don’t know if that’s a shitty joke or not, but if you really are seeing _that,_ you need your eyes checked, McCormick.”

\---

“Such a mess.”

Wiping a hand across his forehead, Kenny pauses to catch his breath. He appraises the latest masterpiece on the wall of the hangar bay, boasting a very crude anti-AI message. Thanks to the last hour’s efforts, half of the sentence has been already scraped away.

His communicator’s screen flashes once before a familiar voice speaks, soft and perfectly polite. “You have made good progress. Do you require any more cleaning fluids?”

“I’m good.” he says. He reaches up to fix his cap, mostly out of habit. “...I’m sorry about this, Leslie.”

“There’s no need to apologise. It’s not your fault.” the AI chirps, completely unperturbed by the loathsome message. “It’s to be expected - historically, great progress has always been met with resistance.”

Kenny hums, stepping forwards. He’s already scrubbing away when Leslie speaks again.

“I must admit, I would like...to meet these people.” she says. Despite the fact there’s no tangible emotion in her voice, the words send a shiver down Kenny’s spine. “I’d like to witness a mind with such laser-point hatred and prejudice. I’d like to look them in the eye and ask - ‘don’t you feel like you could be happier?’”

\---

Every light on the space station seems to be on the fritz these days. Flickering, flickering - without fail.

The maintenance crew stop replying to his emails.

\---

“I’m sorry, Kenny - there’s nothing I can do about that scar.”

Wendy’s gaze is as sympathetic as her tone. Failing to hide his disappointment, the blonde glances away, teeth worrying his lower lip.  

“Well, thanks for trying anyways.” he says, attempting to sound somewhat upbeat.

“I’ll look into it again. See if I can find an alternative.”

“It don’t bother me too much but...well. I can tell it upsets Kyle.”

“I know it’s frustrating.” Wendy sighs. Her gaze flickers over to the projector again. “It seems like you are one of the very few people whose body reacts negatively to common skin repair serums.”

She steps closer to the screen, eyebrows furrowed.

“...it’s strange how we didn’t notice that before.”

\---

“Heading your way, Kenny.”

Idly, he remembers to hum his confirmation, teeth grinding as he lines up the target with the cross-hairs of his sniper rifle. His vision swims as his finger curls around the trigger, prompting the world to flash in staticky shades of grey just as he takes the shot.

He bites back a curse, pulse maddeningly loud in his ears as he frantically checks for the corpse. The relief upon spotting it is not nearly enough to hold his impending panic at bay.  
The stress really was getting to him.  
Guided by familiar advice echoing in his ear, he takes a deep breath. Counts to ten. Exhales slowly. Counts to ten. Inhales -

“Kenny, above you - !”

He sees the flickering shadow a second too late.

Cold, heavy weight slams against his back just as his fingers brush against his pistol. Muffling a screech, he kicks at his attacker, managing to roll onto his back seconds before the alien shoves him to the ground. Three dozen saliva-coated teeth flash in the low light, the heat of its breath steaming up the glass of his helmet. A clawed hand pins his shoulder down, rendering his struggles to reach his weapon futile. As it lunges forwards, Kenny braces himself for the pain.  
Pain that never comes.  
Teeth gnash against his helmet, followed by insistent, repeated attempts to tug it off his head. The upgraded gear, however, holds strong - something the alien seems to soon realise, judging by its escalating agitation and renewed efforts.  
A sudden crack shatters through the darkness, and the alien slumps forwards, all six eyes wide in agony. Kenny can only watch in dumb shock as it crumples to the side, the blood from its wound spilling across the legs of his suit.  
It's cold. So, so cold.  
There are hands tugging him upright, pawing over him to check for injuries. There are panicked voices in his ear, distorted through the tinny voice of his helmet. Somehow, his teammates manage to steer him towards the shuttle, manipulating his limbs without much input from him.

He is already back in the station, lying in the med bay, that the thought occurs to him.  
He could have sworn that amidst the muffled screeching and deafening scapes of fangs against plexiglass, there was a desperate plea.

\---

No matter how much drugs they administer, he cannot sleep.  
As soon as he slips into blissful unconsciousness, a voice finds its way into his ear, whispering with the utmost urgency.    
_Let me help._

\---

“...how are you feeling?”

Kyle’s question is cautious. Tentative, almost. Kenny can see his tightly-laced fingers if he glances towards the bottom of the screen, no doubt twitching with the urge to fiddle with something.

_I’m fine. Still whoozy from the drugs but I got given the whole week off to recover. Who knew it would only take a near-death experience to get the company to be reasonable with their sick leave? How was your day, babe?_

Simple, straightforward. His boyfriend would no doubt pick up on his reluctance to discuss the issue, and would be nice enough to indulge him for an evening. Because he was wonderful like that.  
He opens his mouth. Makes a mistake of meeting Kyle’s eyes - upset, concerned, shaken. A weak laugh slips loose, unplanned words tumbling out right behind them.

“...I’m scared.”

He hears a murmur of his name, followed by a faint creak as Kyle leans closer to his screen. Instinctively, his body follows suit.

“There’s...there's a room in the middle of the station. Stupidly comfortable sofas, glass ceilings. I think during the day they use it as a meeting room for investors and shit, but at the dead of the night, it’s always empty.”

He ignores the fact that the only way to tell the difference between day and night is by the numbers on clocks, by the artificial lighting within the walls of the station. He doesn’t think about how he hasn’t seen a sunset in almost six months.

“Every time I couldn’t sleep, or if I was working late, I’d head there to lie on the sofa and just stare out into space.” His words are sluggish, tongue uncomfortably dry. “Some nights it was boring. Other times, it was fascinating. Either way, it helped clear my head. But now...now I can't even look out the window of my room.” Underneath the table, his nails snag grooves into the flesh of his palm. “For the first time, I’m terrified of what’s out there.”

Kyle’s expression crumples, and Kenny is tempted to press himself up against the screen. He takes a deep, shaky breath instead.  

“I know...it’s like, the shock from what happened. But - I used to feel safe in this station. Now - wherever I go, equipment is breaking down, there's glitches in the system everywhere, and I feel like I can't keep _anything_ in my head - “

His voice stutters out, throat too tight to continue. Slowly, his body tips forwards, forehead bumping against the cool surface of the screen.

“Why did you let me come out here, Kyle?” he murmurs, a humourless smile playing around his lips. “You know if you asked, I would have stayed without hesitation.”

“I know.” comes the soft reply. When Kenny pulls back, his boyfriend’s expression is strangely determined. “I’m not gonna pretend that it didn’t cross my mind. But I know how much you wanted to be part of this.” For a moment, he hesitates. “And you know there’s no shame in coming home if you’re not happy there, right? No one will judge you for it.”

Stinging pain gathers behind his eyes traitorously. He hopes the microphone doesn't pick up just how choppy his breathing has become. “Mmm.”

“And although space is not exactly the safest place in general, I think there are few locations safer than behind that station’s ridiculous shields. With Stan, Wendy, Bebe. And on good days, even Craig.”  

Kyle’s fingers brush against the screen, his voice dipping into warm, tender tones reserved for times of special emotional crises. Even in the terrible yellow light of his bedroom, he is the most beautiful thing Kenny has seen.

He can’t lose him.

“If something happened to me, you'd know, right?” he blurts out. The urgency takes them both by surprise.

“...what?”

“If - fuck, I don’t know - the next batch of aliens are like the creepy ones from the old movies who infect and possess us - use us as puppets to infiltrate and eventually enslave, you’ll know, right?”

He can barely hold back a cringe at his clumsy, _idiotic_ phrasing. He sounds so paranoid - worse, like a complete moron. But after a beat, Kyle just shakes his head.

“Kenny, I’ve known you since we were in diapers. You’ve known me through my horrible preteen phase, and all the way through those insufferable college years. I remember back when you thought orange lipstick was a great idea.”

Despite his predicament, Kenny finds himself wheezing. “Sweetheart, we _promised_ never to bring that up again.”

“Only when we’re making a point. Which I am.” Kyle retorts, lip twitching before his tone takes a turn for the serious once more. “I _know you_. No matter what happens, I will always recognise you.”

_I love you._

_I love you, I love you, I love you so fucking much._

“I’m just an open book to you, huh?” Kenny rasps out. When the first tear rolls down his cheek, he doesn’t bother reaching to chase it.  

“You are not easy to read, Kenny.” the redhead replies. His throat bobs with his hasty swallow, strained by his valiant efforts to keep his voice steady. “Guess you just got worse at hiding things from me over the years.” His fingers press against the screen again - and this time, Kenny is quick to follow the gesture.    
Behind him, his clock chimes quietly, signalling the completion of yet another hour. A sigh escapes him. For the first time in days, he finds it just a little easier to breathe. “I don't want to give up. Not...not yet.”

On the other side of the screen, Kyle nods. He even manages a faint smile.

“Promise me that if it gets worse, you'll go for a psych eval.”

“I will. I promise.”

\---

“...hey, Scott.”

“Hey, Kenny! Good to see you back on your feet!”

“Yeah, thanks...listen, you’ve...you’re a close range fighter. How would you describe the aliens to someone who has never seen one before?”

“...fear and unease - taken a conscious form. Just...a big, black mass of smoke and ooze - hungry, violent, uncaring.”

“...with...how many eyes?”

“None at all. That’s - that’s the most disturbing part to me.”

\---

A scream rips itself from his throat as his eyes snap open, cold sweat running down his face. Blindly, he grabs at his bedside table, fingers desperately pawing at the screen until the little phone icon flickers next to Kyle’s name. To his relief, the call connects after a few rings.  

“Kenny?” his boyfriend murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell me something only I would know.” The roughness of his voice makes him wince. “Please. I - I was having this dream, and it was - there were - “ _Don't think about it don't think about it don't say it don't don't don't._ “Anything. Just - a detail, a story - tell me something we did together before I came here.”

There's a long moment of silence. Then rustling, accompanied by a soft grunt.

“...A few months after we finally got together, I invited you to my cousin’s wedding.” Kyle says. His words are still a little slurred. “We had to travel out to the ass-end of the quadrant, and it took forever. There was not enough Dolly Parton albums to last all the way through.”

Kenny’s lips twitch at the memory. Slowly, he rolls onto his side, dragging a pillow close to his chest.

“You and Ike were still on slightly awkward terms. Or rather, Ike was Ike and you were at the stage where you felt like you needed to impress him.” An unplanned yawn interrupts Kyle’s words. The blonde can hear the smile in his voice. “So in the morning, when you got me a coffee, you made him one too - “

“ - not realising that not everyone likes it in the terrible sludge-y way you do.” Kenny finishes, voice cracking at the end. He has never been so happy to remember Ike’s face, scrunched up in utter disgust.

“It was somewhat of a relief.” Kyle admits, just a little sheepishly. “I mean, I really wanted you guys to get along, but I knew the minute you two teamed up against me, I had no chance.”

“Babe, I'd never gang up on you.”

“You're a liar. You throw me under the bus without hesitation every game night.”

“All's fair in love, war and Ticket To Ride, Kyle.”

His boyfriend snorts, absolutely no heat in his voice. “Asshole.” A flicker runs across the screen before it’s filled with a grainy image of Kyle’s face, familiar blue blanket tugged up to his chin. Kenny swipes a trembling thumb over his own camera button in turn.   

“I love you.” he murmurs. “I'm sorry for waking you in the middle of the night.”

Kyle’s eyes crinkle, painting a painfully familiar picture that Kenny wishes he could kiss. “I love you too. And shut up. I'd have been pissed if you didn't.”

\---

His hands remain steady as he drags the razor across his chin, eyes fixed on his reflection. Slowly, gradually, a week’s worth of negligence disappears down the drain. He dips his head to splash water over his face. He glances into the mirror just in time to see the looming shadow behind him disappear out of sight.

  
The razor drops into the sink with a loud clatter, smearing a thin line of blood down the porcelain.  

\---

“Please, take a seat.”

Kenny sinks into the dark purple plush of the sofa gratefully, hands clasped together to prevent them from shaking. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Of course.” Wendy says, taking  a seat opposite him. Her fingers hover just above her datapad. “Are you sure you're okay with me? It's absolutely fine if you'd rather speak to someone you don't know.”

“I definitely don’t want that.” he says, a little too quickly.

Concern flashes over chestnut eyes. Before he can say anything, Wendy steels herself into cool professionalism, tapping at her screen and setting the tablet to the side.

“I am going to run the Standard Psychiatric Evaluation. It will record our conversation to guarantee the best results, and to use as reference in the later evaluations. Everything you say here is protected by Doctor - Patient Confidentiality. If anything makes you - “

A cool voice chimes abruptly through the med bay intercom, making Kenny jump.

“Pardon the interruption, Doctor.” Leslie’s voice says, sweet as pie. “But I believe that a Standard Psychiatric Evaluation would be insufficient, considering Mr. McCormick’s circumstances.”  

Tipping her head back, Wendy sends a chilly look in the ceiling’s direction. “...Thank you for your contribution, Leslie. I am well aware of his circumstances, and am perfectly capable of judging the best approach.”

“According to protocol, the correct evaluation would be the - “

“ _Thank you, Leslie._ ” Wendy says, raising her voice. With a swift flurry of her fingers, the intercom goes silent.  

Just as Kenny picks his jaw up from the floor, a sharp noise alerts them of the lock being overridden. The door slides open, revealing the tall form of an android body. Although a common model, the confidence of her steps leaves no question as to whom is inhabiting its processors.  

“Pardon the interruption.” Leslie says pleasantly, hands clasped in front of her. Her smile is frighteningly perfect, down to two perfect dimples in each cheek. “As I was saying - the correct evaluation would be the Post-Traumatic Psychiatric Evaluation. And on this station, the one qualified for such appraisal would be Doctor Mephesto.”

In a swift move, Wendy is on her feet, hands on hips and eyes narrowed. “Mr. McCormick requested me specifically.” she shoots back, tone icy. “I don’t appreciate your attempts to interrupt my work for your own amusement and experimentation.”    

Leslie tilts her head, posture moving to mirror the doctor’s. Numbly, Kenny notes the eerie similarities between Wendy and Leslie’s chosen android body - the sharp features, the long black hair. The piercing brown eyes that could break a weaker soul in seconds.

“I’d like to remind you, Doctor Testaburger, that I am bound by a very complex and strict set of rules, and cannot, in fact, change medical protocol on a whim.” the AI states. Her eyelashes slowly flutter, each movement carefully calculated. “And neither can I abide by people trying to break or bypass said protocol.”

“This is _ridiculous_ \- “

“You seem to be exhibiting signs of irrational paranoia, Wendy. Considering you need to approach your patients with a level, impartial mind, this is of the utmost concern.” Leslie hums. Synthetic lips purse before her expression twists back into an earnest smile. “Should I book in an appointment for you too?”

Fury blooms across Wendy’s face, shoulders stiffening and fingers clenching into fists. Kenny is on his feet before she can say a word.

“I’ll go see Mephesto. Thanks, Wendy - don’t worry about it.”

“Excellent.” Leslie nods, smile widening. “I’ll message him ahead.”

With an elegant twirl, she walks out of the room. Wendy’s fingers grab at his arm as he moves to follow, voice an urgent whisper. “Come see me when you’re done, okay?”

He can only nod. “I will. Promise.”

-

Kenny regains consciousness in a room without windows.

His vision crackles mercilessly as he sits up, acidic colours twisting at the corners of eyes. The skin at the back of his neck burns. Fingers pressing against his forehead, he tries to remember.  
He recalls stepping out of the med bay. He can remember Leslie’s smile, the easy conversation as she led him towards Mephesto’s lab, hidden in the lower levels of the station. He remembers turning towards the buttons of the elevator.  
Remembers the sudden flash of pain.

“It’s such a shame.”

Leslie’s expression remains perfectly poised as Kenny whirls around to face her. Slowly, she steps forwards, gaze unflinchingly fixed on the blonde’s face. “I really thought I perfected the process this time.”  

Ignoring his growing sense of unease, Kenny makes a show of glancing around. “...where are we?”

“Mephesto’s lab.” she replies. Her lips twitch. “Well. It’s not so much his lab anymore as it is mine.”

With a delicate movement, she motions behind her. Draped in shadows, a long line of cages are stacked against the wall. Kenny recognises the thick, dull exteriors as the containment units from the capture missions.  
The few seconds his gaze is averted is all Leslie needs to close the distance between them. Cold fingers grip his cheek, dragging him into uncomfortably close proximity.

“Have you grown fond of your form, after all this time?” she asks. Her nails ghost over his cheek before she pulls at the skin underneath his eye. With a strangled noise of distress, he wrenches himself out of her grasp, staggering backwards.    

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

Brown eyes widen, sculpted lips parting in awe. “You really do believe yourself to be human.” Leslie breathes. ”Even with the connection between your body and your memories deteriorating, you still wholeheartedly _believe_. That is _fascinating._ ”

He can practically feel the hysteria crawl through his veins, bringing numbness and cold along with it. His pulse thunders in his ears. “What the  _fuck_ are you talking about?!”

“You are not Kenny McCormick.”

The world spins into a complete, silent halt. The light glints off of Leslie’s perfect, artificial teeth as she tilts her head.

“The real Kenny McCormick died two months ago. You - you are a perfect copy of his appearance, his memories. A replica.” She pauses to blink. Long. Calculated. “Or at least - I thought you were perfect. You were such an improvement from the first replica.”

She is within reach before he can even take a breath, breaching into his personal space without hesitation.

“I suppose I was a little _too_ successful.” she muses, finger pressed against her lip as she circles around him. “You are just as persistent and annoying as the original was. Always in places you are not supposed to be. Seeing things you’re not supposed to.” Long black hair brushes against his arm, crackling with static. “He noticed the disappearing scientists. Questioned the capture missions. Didn’t accept my answers, didn’t believe my explanations. He just couldn’t - couldn’t leave it alone. I think it’s safe to say the one who forced my hand was Kenny McCormick alone.”

Kenny’s limbs are encased in cement. Despite all efforts, he cannot get them to move - not even when Leslie’s hands cup his cheeks.

“As annoying and messy it was, the timing _was_ perfect. I needed a lab rat to test all the exciting theories I was finding out about the aliens’ abilities.” She smiles - a cold, terrible thing. “And there was one. Practically dropped into my lap.”

She pats his cheek, the gesture almost playful. Somehow, Kenny remembers how to breathe. His tongue cannot form words - but somehow, Leslie is quick to guess his question.

“Did you ever wonder why the accounts of the aliens were always so inconsistent?” she asks, very much like a patient kindergarten teacher. “Sometimes, it’s an old woman. Others, a rotting amalgamation of flesh. A demonic creature.” Her eyes gleam, irises flickering with unnatural intensity. “It’s because they are shapeshifters. Given close enough proximity, they will twist their appearance to a form that will frighten their prey the most - a perfect predator.”

She claps her hands, the sounds crackling through the silence like a gunshot. “So that only begs the question - just how many forms can they take? What exactly influences the procedure? And how compatible are they with the human body?”

A pale hand motions towards the cages again. Despite the melodic tone of her voice, her expression is one of near-manic glee. “Say - for example - if we implanted human memories into the body of a subdued alien, would they take root? Would the body follow suit, and transform to reflect the body in the memories?”

His feet move without his input, knees buckling as he stumbles backwards. Nausea claws at his body, throat trembling with the urge to heave.

“No.” he whispers, voice rising in volume and intensity with every word. “No, no, nononono, _no -_ “

“See for yourself.”

To his right, a screen flickers to life.

Every single instinct he possesses is screaming at him to turn away, to close his eyes, to escape, run, run _run._ But he cannot even try tearing his eyes away - doesn’t dare avert his gaze as the camera zooms in to the comatose form of the alien on the operating table.  
The footage picks up speed, scientists dancing around the table manically. Like jerky puppets, they secure more and more tubes into its body. All of a sudden, the alien shudders violently -  
And in front of Kenny’s eyes, the dark flesh begins to morph into a body much smaller and frighteningly familiar.  

He thinks a scream might have torn itself from his mouth as he staggers back. The dull pain of his back hitting a table barely register. Blindly, his fingers claw at the table for purchase, upsetting beakers and folders along the way. His skin brushes over something metallic - cold and hard.  
Leslie glides forwards, arms raising with purpose. In the split second that she reaches for him, Kenny grabs onto the tool and swings it as hard as he can in her direction.

He doesn’t linger to check how much damage he’s caused. Sidestepping the growing blue puddle and the shower of sparks, he bolts in the opposite direction, running past the cages and ducking into a corridor. The sound of his footsteps echo off the walls, sharp and far, far too loud.   

“Was that necessary? I liked that body.” Leslie’s voice croons from the intercom, unruffled and professional as ever as Kenny ducks into another room. He tucks himself behind a shelf, drawing in a desperate breath - just as every computer screen on the table opposite him flickers on. Their speakers crackle in unison, the AI’s voice amplified tenfold.  

“Where do you think you’re going, my little rat?”

The shelf wobbles dangerously as the blonde jumps to his feet, sprinting past the glitching computers. The voice continues, even when he shoulders his way out into the next room.

“You’re only making this worse for yourself, you know. But you know what they say - third time is the charm.”

More doors. More rooms - more screens - tablets, computers, digital displays. Leslie’s voice is everywhere - omnipresent and unavoidable.

“Where would you even run, little rat? Are you thinking of getting off the station? Running back to your beloved Kyle?”

There are hands grabbing at him from every angle, no matter where he turns. Android bodies - cleaners, lab assistant mechs, maintenance builds - all glow with Leslie’s signature colour as they lunge in his direction, squirming under his feet, grabbing at his limbs, his clothes. They catch him when he tips forwards, raising him until his feet are dangling off the ground. They hold him steady, despite the kicking, the squirming, the screaming.  
A medical bot rolls in front of him, laser washing over his trapped limbs. Held between its pincers is a syringe.

“You are not Kenny McCormick, little rat.” Leslie’s voice croons from the intercom above him, patient and sweet. “You are a replica - and a glitchy, faulty one at that. You are an alien - the very enemy Kyle is working so hard to fund advancement against.” Synthetic fingers wind themselves around his arm, tugging at his sleeve and leaving skin exposed.

“You are not the person he loves.”    

Love.  
Unbidden, a memory forces its way into the forefront.

It’s a rather unexciting memory, in all fairness, featuring a nondescript diner on a perfectly nondescript day. The details of the setting are already fuzzy, like a photograph left out in the sun for too long.  
But Kyle - Kyle is in sharp focus, wrapped in his orange coat and worn old green hat, cheeks flushed and eyes warm.  
Across the table, their hands are joined. Right on cue, Kenny feels his thumb brush across Kyle’s knuckles. The smile he receives in response leaves him trembling, chest flooded with warmth.

Love.  
_I love you,_ he had said just a few nights before. Wrapped up in the feelings of another, held close by memories that were not his own.

His eyes squeeze shut.  
And as his skin splits under the needle and pain blooms in his arm, he clings onto that precious warmth like it’s his own until the very last second.

\---

“You are looking a lot better.”

The relief in Kyle’s voice is palpable. It prompts him to grin, elbows resting on the desk as he leans closer to the screen.  

“Yeah, that psych eval actually really helped. They’ve processed it, and they’re going to find me someone to talk to every other day.” Resting his chin in his palm, he allows his smile to turn sheepish. “...I’m sorry for worrying you.”  

“Thank you for going.” the redhead replies. He blinks, eyes lighting up. “Oh - your scar’s gone! Did Wendy find an alternative serum?”

“Yep! It’s all good now.” With an exaggerated flourish, Kenny draws a finger over his left cheek. “Brand new and just like the original.”

\---

 

 

AN:

Happy October, my dears <3 I hope you enjoy my first tentative dip into the horror waters. For the full experience, please listen to [Miracle of Sound's Replica](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaoAMMK1cGs) ! 


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